


What It Is That We Do

by templemarker



Category: The Administration - Manna Francis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2765513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templemarker/pseuds/templemarker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warrick hung, limp and wrecked, from his bonds inside the cabinet. </p><p>Toreth reclined on the bed, watching the heave of Warrick's shoulders and the low hang of his head. He fiddled with the whip in his hand; the leather encasing the handle had come free from its braid, and it had annoyed him all evening. He would have to stop by the shop to have it repaired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Is That We Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Winoniel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winoniel/gifts).



> This story is consistent with canon-typical portrayals of a consensual BDSM relationship. 
> 
> Happy holidays, Winoniel!

Warrick hung, limp and wrecked, from his bonds inside the cabinet. 

Toreth reclined on the bed, watching the heave of Warrick's shoulders and the low hang of his head. He fiddled with the whip in his hand; the leather encasing the handle had come free from the braid, and it had annoyed him all evening. He would have to stop by the shop to have it repaired. 

"Do you still have that function at the Art Museum you're committed to dragging me to on Friday?" Toreth asked, sharp eyes watching the welts on Warrick's back. He'd been careful to make certain they wouldn't bleed; Warrick had had an apparently uncomfortable conversation with his assistant about the state of his office chair and was insistent on a no-bleeding rule. At least, when they weren't on holiday. 

Warrick's body started jerking slightly, and Toreth titled his head. A hoarse chuckle became audible. Toreth's smile was wide and possessive. Though they had negotiated extensively the manner and ways in which the cabinet would be used, Warrick still lost himself so deeply, eyes staring blankly at his own face in the small mirror on the rear wall. Warrick protested that he liked it, liked hanging heavily down from the restraints and feeling his body's hurts. 

Toreth watched him go away, the heady light of Warrick's intellect sparking out. While there was great satisfaction in rendering Warrick so thoroughly fucked, Toreth found that he disliked losing Warrick completely for a length of time. He elected not to examine it too closely, shoving it under the practical consideration that Warrick's fragile flesh couldn't rest in bonds for too long, or it wouldn't just be uncomfortable conversations with an assistant. 

Toreth stood, casting the whip aside, and sauntered over to Warrick. He was still laughing, a little hysterical, and Toreth ran his hands along the length of Warrick's back and thighs, not pushing but firm enough that Warrick could feel it. The gasps and choking breath that resulted were pleasing. 

He unhooked one side at a time, first Warrick's right arm and right leg, and then, propping him against Toreth's chest, the left. Warrick sagged against him, and Toreth noted that the weight training focus on his upper body was paying off as he hauled Warrick to the bed, pushing him onto his front. He snagged the salve from Warrick's side table and began to apply it thoroughly to the bruises and the welts. 

"I said, are we still attending that insufferable gala with all of your horrible friends on Friday," he hissed into Warrick's ear, noting his flinch. 

Warrick, with effort, turned his head in Toreth's direction. His eyes were bleary, but he was present. "I hate you," he said, clearly not meaning it. "Yes, we'll arrive at the gala at 20:00. I've had your suit cleaned and pressed, and it’s in the closet."

Toreth pushed into a clean criss-cross of welts at the top of Warrick's spine as a reward. Warrick stiffened, humping slightly into the bed, although there was little chance he'd get hard again. 

"Very well," Toreth said, sounding put-upon. 

He'd started inventing reasons for Warrick to speak, after a moment or, if Warrick was immobile but not in danger of amputation, a few minutes. The cabinet had a particular effect on Warrick, scattering his mind to the winds. It had become difficult to get him back, the longer he hung in whatever state he was in. Toreth began to feel the itch between his eyes, an instinctive leap towards boredom, but he knew he couldn't leave Warrick like that. So he'd begun talking to Warrick, asking him pointed questions, occasionally sketching out an odd detail in a case he was working on, and Warrick was pulled back into the present as Toreth released him and perfunctorily addressed the marks he'd laid on Warrick's body. 

When Warrick was thoroughly dealt with, Toreth went into the front room and snagged his tablet from his bag. The case he was currently investigating offered the standard kidnapping-murder-hostage-ransom plate, but after the third day of negotiating with Justice, the kidnappers had been unable or unwilling to offer proof of the child's life, which had immediately escalated it from Justice to I&I, splitting the negotiation and investigation. 

He climbed back in bed after kicking off his shoes, resting against the headboard while next to him Warrick was unmoving, salve shining in the low light, highlighting the redness against his pale skin. At least he'd have something nice to look at while he reviewed the notes from his interviews and the two interrogations he'd conducted that day. He slipped an audio receiver into his ear and kept the volume low; Warrick always complained when he brought work home--to Warrick's apartment. 

Toreth watched the interrogation vids with a critical eye, noting the inconsistencies between Phase 1 and Phase 2 of the child's obsequious nanny. After a time, Warrick began to stir, and Toreth dropped a protein bar and a bottle of water in front of him. Warrick grunted as he tried to move, but Toreth was busy and didn't help. 

Warrick gulped down the water and tore into the protein bar, and Toreth could feel Warrick's eyes on him. He didn't roll his own, but it was a near thing. 

After a few minutes, Warrick shakily levered himself up off the bed, and Toreth hastily minimized the vid of the nanny screaming as the penta formula 5A burned through her veins. He watched Warrick stumble to the bathroom and took the waste from Warrick's pick me up, tossing it into the recycler by the bed. The shower turned on, and Toreth, relieved that he had a few minutes of privacy, finished annotating the interrogation and sent it off to Sara to be compiled into an initial report in the morning. 

Warrick, naked but for the underwear he had put on, red lines in a patterned row up and down his back and thighs, went towards the kitchen, and Toreth turned off his tablet and followed. Warrick was always starving after one of these sessions, and the other perk to pulling him out of whatever blank space he went to was that Toreth was well fed, too. 

They arranged themselves in the kitchen, companionably silent, as Warrick prepared something. When there was a moment, waiting for one thing to finish off the meal, Warrick padded around the counter to Toreth, ducking his head down to kiss and bite gently at Toreth's mouth. Toreth ran his fingers lightly up Warrick's sides, just skirting the welts, and Warrick shuddered. 

They parted, and Warrick said smugly into his mouth, "There's a ball at the New London Society for the Preservation of Opera and Chorus," he said, "and you will look excellent in the new shawl-collar tuxedo I purchased for you."

Toreth stared into Warrick's bright, laughing eyes, and cursed a blue streak, digging his fingers into Warrick's ass in retaliation, biting at his mouth to stop his panting amusement.


End file.
